


For Who Could Ever Learn to Love a Beast

by Phyoaros



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Beholding, The Lonely - Freeform, The Web - Freeform, flying by the seat of my pants writing, just a touch of, more tags in the future this is just all I can remember lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyoaros/pseuds/Phyoaros
Summary: Jonathan Sims has been cursed into a monstrous form until he falls in love with someone who loves him back or he accepts the deal laid out to him by the one who cursed him. Martin Blackwood has been shunned by his mother and sacrificed by his village to the Fog, of which few return from and fewer still with their sanity intact. In a world where the two are manipulated into coming together, what will come from this unlikely companionship?A Beauty and the Beast AU
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	1. Once Upon a Time

Martin's mother was old and sick. This wasn't new; he had been having to do more and more odd jobs desperately trying to afford the treatment from the local witch coming on six years now. He loved her dearly, and didn't wish any ill to fall on her, and well, she had raised him, hadn't she? Surely that means he owed her quite a deal, certainly enough to the point of helping her stay functional when she couldn't provide for herself. It was his duty as her son. He wasn't bitter because of this, certainly, and while that was not the case for his mother, as she’d been making more and more apparent, he had decided long ago that he could love her enough for the both of them.

All of this was to say, he was decidedly  _ not _ feeling incredibly betrayed when his name was picked from the, increasingly smaller, lot and she didn't look upset in the slightest- maybe even pleased. He knew that the families of those picked received a good amount of money for their sacrifice, and while it normally would have been able to take care of a normal-sized family for a good couple years, he knew it would likely last his mother the rest of her life. She would never have to worry again about whether she could afford her medicine or when her next meal would be. 

_ This is a good thing _ , he thought to himself, ignoring the sting behind his eyes he had felt all too often in his life.  _ Everything will be fine.  _

"Blackwood, you leave in four days. Pack… basics." Conrad Lukas said, a general air of nothingness to him that, apparently, all Lukas family members carried. With his obligation of the month done, he seemingly vanished into the ever-present mist in Martin’s village, sure to be heading to the large fortress that was so thoroughly covered in Fog that no one was entirely sure it was even there.

With the closest thing to a monthly town assembly done, the people around him slowly milled away to their small, compact dwellings. When one lived in the Forsaken’s domain, it was best to keep all of one’s loved ones close, in the same home, lest all become victims instead of the one per month law that the Lukases had implemented. Unlike the rest of the population, Martin simply stood in the town square, mind desperately racing as he considered what this meant. He knew, he  _ knew _ , that almost none came back from being Chosen, and he had no doubt that he would not be one of them. According to those who did manage to come back, being stuck in that horrible,  _ lonely, _ in-between place was a fate so difficult to escape that leaving felt like ripping yourself apart. Martin knew he didn’t have that kind of willpower. He was a coward, and he was sure he would give in almost immediately. 

“Martin.” His mum snapped, in a tone that implied both that it wasn’t the first time she had tried to get his attention, as well as exactly how displeased she was about that fact. And wow, she really  _ must’ve _ been pleased, to actually have used his correct name. “Let’s go. After all, it seems you have some things to pack.” 

Martin nodded jerkily, body moving on autopilot over to his mother's rolling chair and pushed her back to their rundown home. 

\--

Three days passed by all too fast, with his mother in one of the best moods he had ever seen her. The night before he was due to leave, he came to her. He had finished packing that first day, his body moving without his input. He didn’t exactly have a lot to pack, even if he hadn’t been told to only pack essentials. There were more than a few weeks in the past where his odd jobs hadn’t been enough and he’d had to sell a few of his things to make ends meet.

“Mum,” he started, trying and failing to hide the anxiety and fear that was bubbling up in him. "I… I know that no one has ever been able to decline being Chosen, but…"

"But?" His mum replied. "What, you think you are more special than everyone else, is that it?"

"No, of course not!" he scrambled to say. Upon seeing his mother's eyes narrow at his defensive tone, he tried to soften his voice. "I… I'm just worried about you. Who will take care of you?" He twisted his fingers together, even more anxiety filling up his body. It was an unspoken rule between them that he was to never imply that his mother was helpless. It was true that she  _ wasn't  _ helpless, she could do a good amount on her own, but that didn't mean she could do everything. He was so worried about her, about how she would be able to live, without him, even more so than he was for his own life. 

Her eyes hardened with disapproval and irritation. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much," she snapped. "But for the record, I'm going to be hiring a… helper of sorts. Someone to come over and help around the house a few days of the week. I assure you, I will be perfectly fine without you here."

Numbly, he nodded his head. He hadn't  _ wanted  _ her to be left stranded without any help, certainly, but something about her already knowing exactly what to do, and not being upset, not even at no longer having Martin to do the laundry and cook, felt… bad. It felt horrible, if he was being honest with himself, which he was sorely trying not to be.

“O-oh, okay then,” he mumbled, careful not to give away his overwhelming despair at her words. He needn’t have bothered, for as soon as he finished, she turned back to what she was doing before, gazing out through the cottage's only window with dissatisfaction clear on her face.

When someone was due to leave out into the Fog as an offering, their families would usually spend the last night in a feast, or barring that, time huddled around the fire, warming their bodies from the outside chill while they warmed their souls from stories long past. It was meant to give the person leaving as many happy memories with their family as possible. Those memories, it was whispered in quiet conversations around the town, were what those strong enough to leave the Fog had gripped onto for dear life during their ordeal, in order to not lose themselves to the overwhelming despair and cold.

The fact that his mother refused to even so much as look at him in the eye on this, the eve before his almost certain demise, said more than any of the words she had ever used did.

He hoped, if nothing else, that maybe she would be able to find happiness without his seemingly horrible presence.

That next morning, he said goodbye to the few stray cats that often found their way to his ( _ his mother's,  _ his mind whispered,  _ after today _ ) cottage for a few scraps. He didn't know where they came from-- after all, no one in town owned so much as a dog-- but they had the loveliest web pattern across their backs. He’d always had an affinity for spiders and spider webs ever since he was a child, for reasons he had long since blocked out of his mind. Pets were forbidden in their town (and, he assumed, from the other Forsaken towns and cities), for the comfort they provided; otherwise, he would have long ago done his best to convince his mum to keep a few.

"Martin!" he heard his mum snap, and despite her tone, she almost sounded… happy? "Stop feeding those pests and leave. You know you have to be there by sunrise." Then again, he never would have been able to convince her to keep a cat, so it didn't much matter what the rules were.

"Yes, mum!" he called back, trying to force even a fraction of his usual chipperness into his voice. He surprised himself by how almost-okay he sounded. He gave each of the three tomcats that showed today an affectionate goodbye head-pat, and turned around to go inside. 

"Mrrow!" came a disgruntled call from behind him. He turned around and smiled brightly at the cat that had shown up from the shadows. It was Tipsy-- the only cat he had let himself name at the tender age of 12, and coincidentally his favorite of all the strange strays that regularly showed up. She hobbled over on her three legs, her sleek black coat shining in the little light there was pre-dawn. 

"Aw, hey, girl. Come to give me a goodbye?" She butted her head, the only place on her body with the distinctive web pattern, which covered the left half of her face, against his leg. He leaned down to give her a pet under her chin, her favorite place to be scritched. As soon as his hand was within reach, she gave him a quick, hard nip on his hand. "Ow! Tipsy, that bloody hurt!"

The cat gave a self-satisfied  _ mreow _ , as if to say  _ serves you right _ . She looked up at him with a look he could only describe as grumpy, and her tail thrashed behind her. Her tail was moving so hard she kept almost tipping over, and every few moments she had to hop slightly so as to not fall. 

He let out a soft chuckle at the sight, to which she just… glared? harder in response, looking as if she thought he was mocking her. He put up his hands in surrender and said, "I'm sorry, sweetie, are you mad I almost left without you?"

_ Chrip!  _ She meowed, doing her kitty best to raise an eyebrow.  _ Of course, you dumb human _ , he could almost imagine her saying.

He looked at her, amusement at least partially moving in place of anxiety. "Right, right, of course, how rude of me. I'm so sorry, my lady-"

"Martin! Now!" He heard his mum call from inside. He looked at the little sky he could see through the Fog and saw that his mum was correct, as the colors were slowly lightening. 

He looked back down to Tipsy, and once again reached down to scritch her chin. This time, she let him, purring louder than he thought he had ever heard her purr. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He started to feel tears well up in his eyes, and cursed himself for almost crying over a  _ cat _ , of all things. "I'll-- I'll miss you all a lot. I hope that you’ll be able to get plenty to eat without me." 

He sniffed, and turned around once more to head inside. Once he tried to take a step forward, however, he felt little claws pierce his cheap trousers and into his skin. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, turning around to see that Tipsy was the culprit.

"Mrrroow!!!" she insisted.

"I have to go! Let go of me!"

"Muh-muh." Was he going insane, or did she just fucking say "uh-uh"?

"Tipsy!" He reached down and had to physically tear her claws out of his skin, which brought tears to his eyes for an all new reason. "I love you, but I have to leave! I'm going to be late!" 

She growled, looking incredibly displeased, and tried to attack his leg again. He barely managed to dodge her attack with a "bloody hell!". He quickly moved back inside and closed the door firmly behind him. He could hear  _ yowling _ behind it, the first time that he had ever heard any of the strays be that loud, and then there were scratching noises, as if a cat was trying to claw through a door. 

He swore again when he looked back to his trouser leg, seeing blood sluggishly staining the dark brown to black. Unfortunately, he didn't have any time to care for it, and figured that it wouldn’t matter much soon, anyways. After quickly grabbing the pack that held his few things, he threw out a, "Goodbye! I love you! Please take care!" behind him, and ran out the door, half-limping. The cats hadn't followed him around to the front of the house; Martin couldn't remember a single time he’d ever seen any of them anywhere except behind his house.

He power-walked until he reached the edge of town closest to the direction of the Lukas estate, cursing under his breath all the while. There was no one on the streets this early, his steps echoing in the empty, hollow town. No one dared to venture outside of their homes any time that no light, not even the tiny amount they got from the sun, hit the streets.

Normally, a Chosen's family would come with them to the edge for final, tearful goodbyes, but his mum had complained of her bones aching this morning, and so he had no one to say goodbye to. He took a moment to swallow back a lump in his throat and set his shoulders, blocking out everything but determination. He took his first step into the Fog, mere moments before the sun's woeful rays pierced through the dense clouds, letting the mist swallow him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! thanks so much for giving this a read! :3 i love fairy-tale esque au's for this fandom, and i've yet to see a beauty and the beast au with jon as the beast so, of course, i have to rectify that. i can't promise how closely this fic will actually match up with beauty and the beast, but i'm going to do my best lol.  
> I'm planning on updating this fic on a semi-regular basis, hopefully every two weeks on the weekend at the very least, but I will admit I have a horrible track record with upload schedules so we'll see how that goes. If you want me to update faster, leave kudos and comments! they make me more excited about my writing and thus make me write more :)  
> if you want to chat with me, my tumblr is @notcoybutcryptic


	2. In a Faraway Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get cold, and then something strange happens.

Cold.

Cold was all he knew. Terrible, biting cold. The skin that was not covered by his dress felt raw from the whistling wind. The small amount of snow that fell delicately around him and the cool fog twisting throughout the trees added a sense of mystique to the sparse forest he found himself in. With every step he took further, the more the cold permeated the air, creating a miasma of still, chilled nothingness.

More than anything, he felt  _ numb _ . Not just on the physical, surface level, though that was also true, but even more so inside. He couldn't feel… anything. No emotions, no anxiety or hope or happiness. He strained himself to feel something,  _ anything.  _ The only thing he felt was the faintest slip of fear. Had he ever felt anything else?

In a way, the fear was almost… calming. Soft, in a weird sort of way. It was something, and as long as he had something, that would be fine, surely. That was all he needed, that fear, that numbness. He took a deep breath, frigid air filling his lungs. He felt the chill move deep into his veins, and could almost feel it spreading through his body. With every beat of his heart, the chill inched ever further, until that was all he was. 

His steps slowed to a stop. Why had he entered this place, again? He couldn't recall, but he was sure there was a reason, right? The numbness called to him, encouraging him to take a few more steps. He started walking again. For that matter, who was he? He couldn't seem to remember. Was it even a he? It didn't know. All it knew was cold, and numbness, and that lovely, gentle fear.

Each step sent a slight echo through the air, sound bumping from distant trees back to it. It was pretty sure that that wasn't how echoes worked, but, well, what did it know? Soon, though, it could hear another sound: another set of dissonant footsteps, growing louder and louder, as if slowly moving it's way towards him.

Whatever the footsteps were, whether they were a some _ one  _ or a some _ thing _ , it couldn't force itself to care much more than a slight increase in that strange, ever present fear.

"Oh, hello there," a voice says in front of it. It looks up to see an older man, hair and beard the color of dirtied snow. He was wearing a strange cap, maybe a sea captain's hat? How peculiar. "You must be, ah, Blackwood, right?" The man continued.

It jolted at this; Blackwood? Is that it's name? No, no, surely that's a last name. So is that it? Is Blackwood it's last name? The more it thinks about it, the more it realizes that the name… fits. It-- he?-- nods his head slowly, shakily.

"Oh, dear, where are my manners? You must be freezing, you haven't become accustomed to the Lonely quite yet, have you? Here," the man said, and took off his jacket to hand to Blackwood.

He shrugged the jacket over his shoulders, and gasped as a rush ( _ Martin-- mum-- Forsaken-- _ ) overtakes him. He doubles over, hands on his knees as he tries, desperately, to filter the onslaught of memories. 

He hears a small chuckle from the man across from him. "There we go! Everything all back in place, now, yes? No harm, no foul."

Once he manages to slow his breathing down from near-hyperventilation to something approaching normal, he lifts his head up to give the man a dirty look, and freezes in his place. Martin hadn't noticed before, but the man's eyes-- blue, pale, so much so that they could nearly be described as white-- were the exact same as Conrad Lukas'. So, this man was a Lukas. Explained how he could be in the Fog seemingly unaffected.

"I'm guessing from the look on your face that you know my last name. Fantastic! That makes this all much easier. Peter Lukas, at your service. I'm here to bring you through the domain to the estate!" The mans-- Peter's-- voice was strangely chipper, given his stature and position.

"I-- uh, well, I--" Martin tried to speak, but found that the cold that had seeped into his blood was still freezing his lungs enough to make anything more than gasps terribly difficult.

Peter tutted, a look of shallow concern flitting across his face. "Hm, how long have you been out here? I thought it had only been a couple of hours, but you seem to be far enough gone for it to have been days. Oh, well. Let's get you to your new room, can't have you becoming a  _ victim _ , now, can we?" He laughed softly, as if what he had said was quite funny, actually, and not  _ uniquely _ horrifying and confusing for Martin. Actually, maybe that's what he was laughing at.

Peter grabbed his upper arm tightly, and started to jovially walk in the direction Martin had felt the pull. Martin struggled to keep up, but it was quite difficult when his legs still felt like spikes of ice. He didn't know how he had managed to walk before, but now that he had been snapped out of… whatever had been happening to him, it seemed much harder than it had only moments prior. 

Eventually, his legs warmed up just enough to actually be functional again, and he managed to almost match Peter's chipper walking. Of course, now that he no longer left numb, he was colder than ever, and within seconds of his body warming up from supernatural cold to just the regular kind, he was shivering, violently.

With his free hand, he did his best to shrug more of Peter's jacket onto his body. More fully wrapped up, or at least as much as he could, the cold seemed to lessen ever so slightly. Still, though, he was grateful once they had finally seemed to reach their destination. It had felt like hours since they started their walk, and Martin had no idea how long had passed when he was in his fugue-like state, but from what Peter had said earlier, it had surely been at least a few hours since he had first started his trek through the Fog.

Peter hadn't said anything since they had first started walking and, when Martin had finally been able to match his stride, he had let go of him. He continued this trend as they walked up to the forbidding mansion. The building was huge, and obviously well cared for, but the lack of movement or light in the windows made it feel completely empty. The stark white marble facade of the house looked  _ cold _ in a way that not even the wind around them could replicate. Martin felt a shiver of dread run down his back. Despite having felt a sense of relief only moments prior, every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. The small cuts on his calf from that morning-- and God, had that really only happened less than a day ago? It felt like weeks,  _ months _ , had passed since saying goodbye to Tipsy and the rest-- gave a strong surge of pain. He shook it off, the pain throbbing down to something much more manageable, and continued.

They made their way to the way too large front doors, which, once they were on the threshold of the house, swung open with only the lightest creek, almost completely silent. Martin had expected to see servants, or maybe even a member of the family, but no one stood in the daunting entryway. Peter, apparently not finding this weird at all, stepped through the doors into the dark of the house. Martin looked behind him, but before he could even try to conceive of an ill-thought plan, he heard an echoing voice inside his head say, “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He whipped his head around to see Peter had momentarily paused, and then started up again, his weirdly fast pace. Feeling disconcerting…  _ seen _ , he decided that it was likely better to follow inside instead of attempting a mad dash though the Fog.

Walking through the house, if he dared call a building so ominously large and lonely as such, was similar to that of the walk through the woods. Peter said nothing, only occasionally whistling ever once in a while, a convivial tune that felt very off-putting in the space around them. Each moment felt stretched into two more, making the whole experience feel like it was continuing for much longer than physically possible. The mansion hadn’t been  _ this _ large from the outside, had it? At least the wind, which Martin could still hear whistling through the tree branches outside the frosted windows lining the halls, was buffeted by the walls of the building, however cold those walls were.

"Here we are," Peter began after a few more minutes of walking, halting in front of a solid oak door. He plucked the coat Martin hadn't realized he was still wearing off of his shoulders and reached into the pocket. His hand emerged a few seconds later with an ornate silver key, which he then used to unlock the door. As it opened, the door had the same almost creak as the entryway, the soft sound caressing Martin's skin in a strangely calming way.

The room itself was barely furnished, just a bed and a side table, but what there was looked extremely expensive, in a "don't touch unless you have the money to buy" kind of way. "This is your room, for now. Don't get too cosy! We'll have you set up somewhere else in a few days." 

Martin stepped into the room, unsure what else to do. The second he was across the threshold, the door behind him closed with an air of finality. He whipped back around, about to try to open the door again until he realized that while there was definitely a door there, there was a distinct lack of a handle for him to use.

"Have a good day!" He heard Peter call from the other side of the wall, and then footsteps leading off to somewhere Martin could not see and could not follow.

Martin took a deep breath, and walked over to the ostentatious bed, jerkily sitting down. His mind, which had been completely blank until then from confusion and terror, started to race. He was terrified, and anxious, but more than anything else,  _ deeply _ confused. Why wasn't he dead? Wasn't that the whole point of being Chosen? He didn't know what was going on, and suddenly had an intense feeling of regret for not asking Peter what the  _ bloody hell _ was going on. 

He had been told that he would be moved in a few days; did that mean he was going to be alone in this cramped room until then? What was waiting for him then? He didn't want to know the answer to these questions, and had a feeling that, if he wasn't supposed to die, his fate was going to be something much,  _ much _ worse. 

He took off his sad excuse for a pack, with nary even a full change of clothes. He hadn't been expecting to live this long, and so had only brought a few things for comfort-- an old stuffed bear that had been so long used to be worthless for selling, a few candles, a water skin. He took out the old bear, feeling ridiculously out of his depth, and laid down on the too hard yet too soft bed, and tried to rest.

Soon, it became clear that the idea of getting any kind of rest where he was was laughable, try as he might. He had no idea what he was doing, what he was going to be subjected to, and his bloody leg still hurt, pulsed with pain with every breath, making everything feel wrong.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, like a dam being broken, he was sobbing. His thoughts wouldn't shut up for even one moment, and he could feel no relief. Soon, he was hyperventilating, and he couldn't make himself stop. Everything was too much, everything hurt and ached and he didn't know what to  _ do. _

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, desperately catching air every few moments, tears somehow cold on his face. Eventually, though, his breathing slowed, and only a few errant tears left his eyes. Now that his sobbing wasn't an overwhelming sound, he heard a noise, a very familiar noise. The sound of something scratching at a window. His head jolted up, blearily blinking the few tears left away, and saw a window where there had certainly not been one before. He got up and walked over on shaky legs, only to see the one thing he would have expected the least in the Forsaken. 

Tipsy was clawing at the glass panel and, once she saw him, started to softly yowl. He shakily reached to open up the window, shock filling every nerve and muscle in his body when it actually gave under his hand. Tipsy jumped off the sill to the ground below, surprising Martin, as he had been  _ sure _ that they weren't on the first floor.

Martin stared down at her, not moving in his incomprehension. Tipsy took a few steps forward and then looked back, a disgruntled look on her cat face. Martin hadn't realized that cats  _ could _ look disgruntled, but, well.

"What are you doing here?" He finally asked when his voice returned to him. She took another few trotting steps forward, and Martin's shock slightly gave way to fear for his small, oh so easily damaged friend. "Never mind that," he hissed, "come back here! It's not safe out there!" It was hardly safe in the mansion, Martin thought after a second, but surely it was better than just being out and about in the Fog, no protection to be found.

Actually, though, there didn’t seem to be any of the Fog around Tipsy, despite it being everywhere else. It seemed like there was a good two feet circle around her, of which the Fog couldn’t break through. 

She meowed again to gain his attention and jerked her head in a manner very similar to a person saying ‘follow me’. And, well. What did he have to lose? He quickly grabbed his pack, throwing the small bear into it as he went, and climbed over the sill, out into the forest. He was sure that this was a horrible idea, but then again, the alternative was something horrible, he just knew it. At least this way, he had a slim hope, a shot in the dark, to not die, which had to be enough for now. He only hoped that he wasn’t jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. 

“Okay, girl. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow walking gay rep vs fast walking gay rep: fight  
> I love writing Peter, I don't even care if I've made him horribly ooc, he's a joy  
> I've had about 80% of this written for a solid week and I'm tired of it just getting more and more words so! even though this isn't perfect by a long shot, I'm too tired to care about it any more. plus, I really want to be updating at least once every two weeks, and if I keep trying to fix this chapter it would take like. a month lmao. anyways, unlike last chapter this one isn't beta'd, so if u find any mistakes or clunky passages, please feel free to leave a comment!  
> if you wanna chat tma with me, my tumblr is @notcoybutcryptic  
> thanks for reading!


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